


your arms are the only home i ever want to know

by peachcandle



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sick Keith (Voltron), Sickfic, its raining, theyre very in love, this is really all I can think of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 05:38:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13381305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachcandle/pseuds/peachcandle
Summary: Keith sucks at self care. Lance understands this better than anyone.





	your arms are the only home i ever want to know

**Author's Note:**

> someday ill write something that doesn't revolve around keith having a cold but that day is definitely not today

At the first sound of rain pelting against the window, Keith rouses from his nap. Through heavy, half lidded eyes, he blinks, tries to take a breath through his nose. Though the sound that follows is soft, it’s thick, stunted with the same congestion that had him waking intermittently during the night, pawing at his face, struggling to breath while he stuttered through coughs.

Dark clouds weaken the daylight that’s filtering in through his blinds, leaving his room, all tangled sheets and crumpled tissues, overcast in a waning, grey light. He squints, then presses an arm over his eyes to shield them from the brightness. His head is throbbing, and it’s only making it worse.

The steady drumming of the rain tugs Keith into consciousness. His thoughts remain languid and hazy, still clinging to the idea of falling back asleep as the sound of the rain starts to crescendo into a dull roar, eventually evening out into hushed white noise. Every breath he takes is slow and even through his mouth, drying his sore throat out even further.

To put it shortly, Keith feels like shit.

Barely awake, he rolls over to face the window. Raindrops trickle down his windowpane, decorating the glass with gentle rivulets and blurring the view of the parking lot. It’s soothing to watch. Keith stares at it until his eyes start to grow heavy again. He sniffles thickly. There isn’t even a shred of him that wants to move.

This wouldn’t be so bad. To sleep the rest of his cold off, staying curled up underneath warm blankets while the storm passes through. The only thing that stops him from falling back asleep is the tease of a sting somewhere deep in his sinuses. He presses underneath his septum with the side of his wrist, nostrils flaring against his skin in an attempt to stave it off. Aimlessly, he throws his other arm out and pats the space beside him, searching for the tissue box he left by his head before he fell asleep.

Something rattles in his throat while his breath starts to hitch, his chest heaving with a series of three agonizingly slow inhales. He sneezes, gets his hand snotty. Wrinkling his nose, Keith turns so that he can see the box and plucks three tissues in quick succession, urgently smashing them against his face just in time to sneeze twice more.

Sharp, clawing pain shoots up his throat.

Keith’s face pinches, and he allows himself a soft, pained whine. He swallows tentatively, anticipating the wince that follows. Gingerly, he folds his tissues over and starts to work on blowing his nose. It’s a slow, painful process, all messy sounds and impenetrable walls, that leaves his sinuses throbbing and his waterline brimming with irritation.

He swipes at his eyes and balls up his tissues. Then, without looking up, throws them lazily at the trash can towards the side of the room. He isn’t even close. They land unceremoniously amidst a sea of his other failed attempts. It’s far from sanitary, but Keith just hasn’t had the will to care since he got home last night shaking and feeling like he’d been smacked by a bus. He’d thrown his things off by the door, downed a shot of NyQuil, and since then, he’s only gotten up for water or to go to the bathroom.

Somewhere deep within his sheets, his phone vibrates. He knows it might be important, but he doesn’t want to answer it. Slightly irritated when it vibrates again, he shoots up, wincing at the discomfort caused by the shift in pressure. He pats his sheets down, shakes out patches of comforter until he finds it.

Keith doesn’t start checking his messages until he’s rolled onto his back and pulled the covers up to his chin. The light from the screen makes him squint.

There are enough messages so that his lock screen is completely obscured, enough so that he has to scroll down before they stop.

There are some from Pidge, telling him both to get better and to keep his distance from her for the next week. There are homework assignments attached too, with detailed notes from a class he missed yesterday. There’s one from Hunk, a few hours old, asking him what kind of soup he likes. Two from Shiro, saying that he heard Keith was sick, and that he hopes Keith is getting some rest. And then there are a mess of messages from Lance, strung out in between all of the others. Keith’s lips twitch upwards, familiar affection blooming in his chest.

_Babe r u doing ok??_

_Pidge said u looked really bad in class yesterday_

_Do u need any soup??_

_Hunk is making some anyways im gonna bring some over_

_Hey_

_Keith?_

_just say the word and I’ll come cuddle with you_

The last two, the ones he just got, say that Hunk made chicken noodle soup, and it’ll be good for his cold. That he’ll be over in a bit.

Keith rolls over and curls in, responds with something about how _it’s **pouring** out, Lance. Stay home, wait until it stops._

Instantly, three dots show up at the bottom corner of the screen. Before Keith has time to blink, a message appears that says:

_I KNOW it’s raining cats and dogs out here!!_

_I’m already walking, I’m not turning back now!_

Their apartments are only two bus stops apart, and Keith really hopes that Lance means walking to the bus, not the full distance. Outside, it’s coming down so hard that the rain is falling in sideways sheets. Keith’s shoots Lance another text to ask, but a response never comes. That _dumbass_. His chest clenches up with worry, but at this point, he can’t do anything but wait.

He pulls his phone close to his chest and sighs. It’s not that he’s ungrateful, but it’s a little annoying that Lance is springing this visit on him with such short notice. His voice will probably aggravate Keith’s headache, and he’ll probably be fussy, which Keith hates. Still, an undeniable part of him quietly aches at the thought of having Lance’s warm body to curl up against until he falls asleep again.

They’ve been together long enough, but Keith still finds himself freezing up when it comes to asking for things as simple as comfort, even though he knows Lance has no problem giving it. He doesn’t know why it’s so hard, just that it is.

Now that Lance is coming over, the sight of all his dirty tissues has him cringing. He needs to clean up. With a soft groan, Keith forces himself out of bed. The muscles in his legs protest from disuse. It doesn’t take long for him to break into weak shivers, for his nose to start running, even though he can’t breathe through it.

Once he’s at the trash can, he squats down and starts to gather all his dirty tissues. It’s evident to him now that his aim has been really poor, because there are wads of tissues spread out all around his trash can. He’s not going to be able to reach them all from the same spot. That doesn’t stop him from trying, though. He starts with what he can reach, stacking tissues in his arms, one crumpled, misshapen ball on top of another. It’s slow work, and by the time he’s finished, he’s woozy from stooping down so many times.

After dumping them all in the trash, Keith folds his arms around his chest and leans back against the wall, spent. No matter how many times he tells his body to stop shaking, it won’t do it. The lines of the room start to soften, eventually blurring together until he’s seeing everything through the lens of an unfocused camera. He thinks he has a fever.

With two fingers, he massages his throbbing sinuses. A sigh turns into a fit of crackling coughs. Keith tilts his head back and closes his eyes. It’s so frustrating, how much his body is holding him back. Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching against oily tangles. He hasn’t showered in two days.

This is pathetic. Maybe he doesn’t want to see Lance after all.

He sinks down, working his hair tie off his wrist. He holds it in his teeth as he bunches knots of hair into a loose, shitty ponytail. After he’s done, he rests his head against the wall and groans. Not long after, the sound of three quick knocks fills his apartment. On his nightstand, his phone buzzes.

Keith ignores the sick, fatigued feeling that washes through his body as he stands up. The room starts to sway, and he puts a hand on the wall to steady himself instead of moving.

Three more knocks, a little louder, a little more urgent.

“I’m coming!” Keith rasps. What comes out of his mouth is too soft, too broken, to have reached anywhere outside of his bedroom. It feels like a waste once he starts coughing.

He trudges to the front door, arms still curled around himself, and unlocks it. Lance standing there, gripping a plastic container, absolutely soaked. There’s a small puddle forming around him in the hallway. His hair is dripping onto his shoulders, and Keith can’t help but notice that they’re trembling. He looks frustrated.

“Keith!” Lance exclaims, expression instantly softening. He must’ve seen Keith wince, because he lowers his voice, apologetic. “How are you feeling?”

 _Awful._ Although Keith is pretty sure his feet are planted firmly on the ground, it feels like he’s swaying. He leans against the doorframe and shrugs. “Not the best.” He watches Lance’s brows knit together, presumably from hearing his voice, how stuffy and raw it is. Maybe it’s because Keith looks worse than he thought. Keith sniffles, then lets out a congested exhale through his mouth. “You’re soaking, come in.”

“Ugh, I know.” Lance grumbles, voice still soft. He wrings his jacket out before stepping through the door. “It started raining right after I left, but I figured, hey. It’s good cuddle weather.” He grins, but the concern that’s been tingeing his expression since Keith open the door remains. The end of his sentence is punctuated with a short cough. Keith raises an eyebrow, noting that Lance’s voice sounds a little huskier.

“Did you walk here?”

“Uh, yes.” The look Keith gets back is a guilty one.

Keith is still frowning. Leaving one arm still around his chest, he reaches out and brushes a stuck tendril of hair off of Lance’s cheek.

“Why didn’t you take the bus?”

“You know they don’t run as often on weekends.” It’s Lance’s turn to shrug. It’s just like him to brush something like that off. “I figured I’d get here faster walking.” He offers Keith another cheeky grin, then sniffles, absently running a hand underneath his nose. Squished sounds fill the silence as Lance works his shoes off.

“You’re an idiot.” Keith sighs.

“Hey! How about a thank you?” The sound of Lance’s laugh defrosts his mood, but Keith doesn’t let it show. “I’m an idiot that just walked all the way through the rain for you! Speaking of that, you care if I steal some clothes? I’m freezing.”

He’s already stepping onto the carpet, so Keith holds an arm out to stop him, shaking his head.

“Don’t.”

“Ah, hey, Keith--” Lance’s demeanor shifts instantly from lighthearted to serious, and Keith can’t tell if that scares him, irritates him, or makes him want to melt.

“I’ll get it for you.” He turns and starts to walk away. The room is spinning again, the same frame of the room righting itself and tilting down, over and over and over. “You’re gonna…” Keith presses his palm in between his eyes, voice shrinking, “... get everything wet.”

“ _Keith._ ” Despite how firm Lance’s tone is, Keith can still make out a flicker of fear underneath, an edge of desperation. It freaks him out to hear Lance say his name like that. He hesitates, cranes his neck, and sees Lance making a face he really doesn’t like.

Suddenly, strong hands are gripping his shoulder, gently tugging him back. His head swims from the motion. Lance’s knuckle brushes against his neck, ice on his skin, and Keith draws in a sharp, involuntary breath before he shudders. When did he start shivering again?

“Sorry. My hands must be freezing.” Lance murmurs. His teeth catch on his bottom lip, then he’s shoving the container into Keith’s hands. “Here.” Words start rushing out of him too fast for Keith to get a response in, like he’s already made the choice for both of them. “You really don’t look so good. Why don’t you go sit down?” Keith feels Lance’s arms, damp and pressing tentatively against his back, gently steering him towards the couch. “I’ll be quick. And I won’t get anything wet, I promise.”

The urge to protest is in the back of Keith’s mind, but the words themselves die in his throat. Keith finds himself nodding and letting Lance lead him along until he’s sinking down against his couch, tupperware warming his lap. He sighs, letting his head roll against the cushions while Lance wanders off to go change. The angle isn’t very comfortable, but Keith lets his eyes slip shut again anyways. That doesn’t mean he isn’t alert though. He hears it when Lance draws in a sharp breath. He knows what it means.

It comes as no surprise when Lance sneezes twice, then mutters, “Ugh, bless me.” That’s not good. For Lance, those sounded harsh. Too wet. Like he’s got a cold too. Lance was sniffling a lot when he came in. His voice was off, his nose was red. Keith isn’t an idiot.

The thought of Lance feeling the same way Keith does now leaves a heavy feeling pooling in Keith’s gut. He heaves a guilty sigh into the cushions with no one around to hear it but himself.

The next few minutes are a blur. Eventually, he hears Lance emerging from his bedroom and taking a detour into the kitchen. Then, he hears the sound of wood smacking together as Lance goes through his cabinets, the rush of water from the sink, his microwave running, metal clinking against porcelain, a lullaby of sheer domesticity.

“Hey.” Next to him, the couch dips with Lance’s weight. Keith blinks, shifting to sit up. Somehow, he hadn’t registered Lance getting back.

He’s wearing Keith’s clothes now, and he looks adorable. He chose a heather red university crew neck, and sweatpants that leave his ankles exposed. That’s how it works with them. Keith’s clothes are always too small on Lance, and Lance’s always look like they’re swallowing Keith. He extends a mug out to Keith, wisps of steam curling out of it, and Keith notes that there’s another one sitting on the coffee table as he accepts it.

“Made you some tea.”

“Thanks.” Keith murmurs. The steam makes his nose run as he lifts it to his lips.

“Hey.” The voice Lance is using now holds a different type of concern, one Keith usually hears after he’s had a bad day.

“Hm?”

“What’s up?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You look grumpier than usual.” Lance moves closer so that their thighs are touching, one of his arms gently coming to rest around Keith’s shoulder. Keith makes a face at him when he has to hold his mug steady to keep the contents from sloshing out. “What’s wrong?”

Keith hesitates for only a second before tilting his chin up and asking, “Are you sick?”

“Who, me? No.” Lance eyes dart away before coming back to Keith, but the sheepish way he said it was already enough.

“You’re sick.” Keith moans. He sets his mug and the soup on the table, then lets his head sink against Lance’s collarbone. “I’m so sorry.”

“Alright.” Lance’s chest expands with a sigh. The rest of what he has to say rushes out of him, in the frantic way he always talks when he feels like he’s said something wrong. “I think I’m getting your cold. But don’t worry about it, okay? I figured I’d get it anyways.”

“No. I’m sorry. I feel…” Keith shakes his head, “...awful, and I don’t want you to feel like this too.” Keith thinks back to earlier this week, when he first started to suspect that he was getting sick. He was still breathing way too close to Lance, still holding Lance’s hand, still kissing him goodbye. In so many ways, he could have been more careful. The bridge of his nose starts to sting, so he presses his face deeper against Lance to calm himself down. It feels like he has no control over anything, and it’s frustrating. What’s worse is that it’s upsetting him more, and it’s the last thing he wants.

Sensing that something is wrong, Lance stays silent, opting instead to lean his cheek against Keith’s head. He sniffles and starts to rub Keith’s shoulder. His hair hasn’t dried all the way yet. It makes Keith shiver, so Lance holds him a little closer, pulls the blanket tighter around them. In this way, Keith is grateful for how well Lance knows him. Physical contact has always been more soothing to him than words ever could be. He takes it for granted, that he never has to ask. He focuses on his own congested breathing, the sound of the rain, and Lance’s breath fanning out against his cheek.

Then, with the worst possible timing, his sinuses begin to prickle. Keith scrunches his nose up against Lance’s chest, grinds it into the fabric to try and drive the feeling away. He ends up struggling into a sitting position, hands steepled and waiting near his face as his chest quivers with deep, stuttering breaths.

Keith snaps forward as he sneezes. A humiliating whine escapes him after the sneeze shreds his throat. He feels Lance’s grip grow firmer on his arm, holding him steady. Keith sniffles thickly, breath already catching again.

_“Salud!”_

Lance murmurs.

Keith sneezes again. His eyes are still watering with the promise of another one.

_“Dinero!”_

The last one is the harshest. The one that bounces off the walls and really leaves his throat destroyed. Finally done, Keith can’t stop himself from wincing as he swallows, letting out another soft sound of discomfort after that triggers his cough. He sags against Lance and groans.

“ _Amor…_ ” Lance croons sympathetically, pressing a kiss to Keith’s forehead. Without moving too much, he grabs the box of tissues off the table and sets them in Keith’s lap. “Sounds like you really caught something awful.” Keeping a hand over his face, Keith pulls a handful and blows his nose. It takes him a few sips of tea before he’s ready to talk again, and his voice still comes out wrecked enough to make Lance flinch.

“You did too.”

“Mm. Guess I did.” Lance reaches up and pulls the throw blanket Keith leaves draped over the top of the couch down around them. In response, Keith pulls his knees in, curling up against Lance, still trying to leech all the body heat that he can. Affection swells in his chest when Lance pulls him closer, and he feels bad for doubting how much he wanted Lance here. This is so much better than his empty bed.

“Have you taken anything yet today?”

“DayQuil. When I woke up.”

“At least four hours ago?”

“Mhm.”

“And have you eaten anything?”

“Not really.”

“Is it your stomach?”

Keith shakes his head. “No. I didn’t wanna get up.” There’s no doubt that Lance is giving him a disapproving look. When they first started dating, Lance used to lecture Keith about taking care of himself. Now, he’s nonverbal like Shiro is, letting his concern show in smaller ways. Suddenly, his palm is pressing against Keith’s forehead. He exhales harshly through his nose, which Keith guesses is in lieu of a sigh.

“You’re running a fever.”

Keith grunts softly in acknowledgement, but protests more vocally when Lance starts to shift underneath him.

“What are you doing?”

“Before I left I figured I’d bring you some stuff to take, too. Just in case you hadn’t already. I’m just getting them out.” Lance explains, his hands emerging with a Ziploc containing two white pills. Keith’s brow furrows.

“I just told you I took something.”

“Yeah, and it’s definitely worn off.” Lance murmurs, ushering Keith into a sitting position. His dismissive tone rubs Keith the wrong way, but he doesn’t feel like arguing. After taking one look at Keith, Lance softens and pats his shoulder, offering him a small smile. “No offense, babe, but your medicine cabinet is pathetic.”

“I thought you were here to take care of me, not to attack me.”

Ignoring Keith’s comment, Lance grabs the soup off of the table and undoes the lid, leaving the pills in its place.

“One of these is for your fever, and the other one’s a decongestant, but you’re going to have to eat something first.” At that, Lance holds the soup out to Keith.

“Alright, alright.” He balances the container on the edge of the couch, then brings a spoonful to his mouth. It’s warm and creamy, with bright chunks of carrots and celery that melt on his tongue. Keith can’t taste any of it, but it feels nice going down his throat. His nose starts to run like crazy, so he grabs another tissue to press under it every time his upper lip starts to feel wet.

“You really thought of everything, huh?”

“Of course.” Lance flashes him another grin as he turns on the TV. “If you actually told me when you weren’t feeling well, you’d find out that I’m like, amazing at taking care of sick people. And besides,” He nudges Keith’s shoulder. “I know you.”

Keith smiles. He knows that he’s not going to change, but the moment feels nice anyways.

Lance sets the channel to some reality TV show and puts his feet up while Keith eats. There’s a quiet understanding between them that Keith really isn’t up for conversation right now, and Keith is grateful for it. He tries not to let it nag at him too much every time Lance takes a sip of tea, or blows his nose, and he tries not to feel self conscious about how much he’s sniffling, or what it sounds like every time he slurps soup up. Keith didn’t think he had an appetite, but before he knows it, the container is half empty.

He sets the container back on the table, stacking the spoon on top of the lid, then locates the Ziploc Lance brought and pops it open. After swallowing both pills with two mouthfuls of lukewarm tea, he finds his way back into Lance’s arms.

“Tell Hunk I said thanks.”

Keith murmurs, nuzzling his cheek against Lance’s neck.

“Will do. He said he put some spices in the soup to clear you out. Did it work?”

“Is that what that was? Yeah. Jeez. He’s amazing.”

“He is.” Lance nods, obvious pride seeping into his voice. He clears his throat. “How are you feeling?”

“A little better, I guess. My head kind of hurts.”

“Yeah? Come here.” Keith didn’t think he could get any more comfortable, but Lance shifts so that Keith is being cradled. He starts to play with Keith’s hair, and Keith sighs in contentment, letting one of his arms fall lazily across Lance’s chest.

It doesn’t take long for Keith to start struggling to keep his eyes open, for the sounds of the TV to start feeling like background noise.

“Hey, Lance?” He mumbles.

“Yeah, babe? What is it?”

“I just… Thanks for coming over. M’glad you did.”

“Oh.” There’s a note of surprise in Lance’s response. A smile that Keith can’t see. “Of course.”

“Sorry I called you an idiot.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t mean it.”

“No, I did.”

“And here I was, thinking you were going to be cute.” Keith laughs, then muffles a few coughs into Lance’s chest.

“Sorry I got you sick.”

“Hey, you’re gonna take care of me too, right?”

Keith nods, mumbles a sleepy, “Mhm. I’ll be just as good as you.”

Lance chuckles, and it vibrates his chest. Vaguely, Keith registers Lance lowering the volume. “Then that’s all I can really ask for. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Mm. ‘Kay.”

Keith drifts off to Lance’s fingers steadily carding through his hair, surrounded by the hushed sound of the rain, and the steady drum of Lance’s heartbeat underneath him. He still can’t breathe, and his throat is still killing him, but he’s warm. Safe. Loved.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks so much for reading <3


End file.
